


High Hopes Lots of Broken Dreams

by Goldstone_Wolf



Series: High Hopes Low (Blank) [33]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), High Hopes Low Rolls (Web Series)
Genre: Blood, F/M, I may have missed some characters, Needles, Panic Attacks, Passing Out, Poor Rook, anyways tws for:, dnd-typical violence, lots of blood, minor gore, sorry I'm sort of stressed, this may be my last fic for a while and if it is I'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:33:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24984634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldstone_Wolf/pseuds/Goldstone_Wolf
Summary: Rook gets hurt. No one knows, though, and they need him.He’ll be fine. After all, it’s not that bad…Right?
Relationships: Rook Lunera/Gwing Veloce
Series: High Hopes Low (Blank) [33]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1692196
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	High Hopes Lots of Broken Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BubbleDramatically](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubbleDramatically/gifts).



> Yes, I was listening to the song “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” by Green Day whilst coming up with the title, why do you ask? I’m a small emo child.  
> Wrote this rather than figure out how to tell my special needs brother that I am not cishet (The only thing I know for sure about my sexuality is that I am trans and that is IT. Am I ace? Bi? Pan? Heck if I know), because that’s something I need to do in order for my family to start referring to me as my name and pronouns. That’s something I set up for myself, by the way, not something they did. I just want to see if my family is actually going to support me there or…yeah.  
> Also, this is based off my own experience with passing out (twice in the past couple of weeks, but once was because I needed to have my blood drawn). Some stuff has been changed, obviously.  
> Anyways, TWs in tags like normal. I might have missed some. If I did, please let me know because that’s a bit of a problem. I would rather have an obscene amount of tags than accidentally trigger a panic or anxiety attack. As usual, there are exits conveniently located throughout the aircraft for use at any time. Stay safe, lads!

Rook pressed a hand to his stomach, wheezing in breaths through his mouth rather than his (likely broken) nose.

Things had gone wrong. Things had gone very wrong, very fast. When they came to Rubrum, they had found a mission waiting for them. It was something that should have been easy. No one had said it would have been the exact opposite.

Stumbling into the inn room, he sucked in a breath again. Beneath his poncho and cloak, his shirt was soaking through with red and he wasn’t sure how much there really was. _You’re fine, Rook. Just work through this,_ he reminded himself quietly as he made his way over to the washbasin. He’d locked the door as soon as he had walked into the room, ensuring no one could interrupt him. With his luck, everyone would assume that was simply because he was going to try and get a jump on the research they needed.

The pair that they had run into weren’t simple bandits. They moved fast, had painfully good accuracy, and could outmatch even Gwing, Malark, and Paddy when it came to stealth. Which was probably why everyone was wrecked and had been forced to retreat in the first place. Even if they had managed to heal while they were there, they were getting their backsides handed to them shamelessly. High Hopes had managed a total of one hit, which was why Rook currently had one of Malark’s knives with him. Lingering on the curved silver blade was a few drops of one of the pair’s blood. Rook had a sinking feeling that it was the brother.

Mostly because the sister had been the one to stab him in the stomach.

Letting his fingers trail red along the wall, something he would have to clean off later, he gripped the sides of the washbasin and stared at himself in the mirror. They had all looked awful, but he didn’t realise that he actually looked half _dead_.

There were dark circles under his eyes, the result of several sleepless nights as of late. Cuts and bruises marred his jaw and cheek where he’d been punched. His shoulder looked out of place, but he wasn’t sure whether it was dislocated or not (he had a dim feeling that it was a yes, considering how painful it was to move). As soon as he pulled his hat off and set it aside, he realised that one side of his hair was sticking to his temple. Even brushing at the blood-matted strands of hair didn’t help, and he let out a groan. He didn’t have time for this.

Wandering over to the bed and trying to forget how he’d looked, he dug around in his bag for medical supplies. The gash in his stomach and some of the matching, less serious ones that he had gained needed to be treated before he could rinse the blood from his hands (and his hair, because he had made the mistake of trying to sleep without doing so before and _that_ had not been a fun awakening in the least).

Stripping out of his cloak, poncho, and shirt was not fun in the least, especially when it came to peeling away the bloody pieces. The injury itself was pretty ugly, and he had to look away for a few moments and take deep breaths before turning back and grabbing a torn piece from his scarf from his bag. It wouldn’t work as much more than a bit, but he really just needed something to keep the sound down rather than an actual gag.

Taking another breath, he grabbed a small flask of alcohol he usually kept in his bag. Already, he knew it was going to hurt. _Alright, Rook, you’ve got work to do. Besides, the others can do this just fine…it’s just going to hurt…a lot._

By the time he managed to finish stitching the cuts up, his hands were bloody and shaking and he could barely see past the tears.

He staggered to his feet and walked towards the washbasin, meaning to wash off his hands. Before he could get there, he had the weirdest heat flash and paused where he was walking. That wasn’t normal. It wasn’t normal in the slightest, especially for him.

The world suddenly went very dark.

+++

When he opened his eyes, he couldn’t breathe and someone was holding him to the ground.

Gasping, he tried to focus on something but even with the lights on there were too many black dots and the sides of his vision were absolutely dark. _What happened? Where ‘m I? Why am I on the ground?_ He might have been saying that, he wasn’t sure.

“You’re okay, you’re okay, I’ve got you.” He recognised the voice, but at the same time he couldn’t place a name or a face. In the corner of where his vision had gone dark, he saw blue hair and concerned brown eyes. “You’re okay. Hashaan! Someone come help!”

_What happened what happened why am I on the ground I can’t breathe—_ Glancing around, he tried sitting up, and she pressed him down to the ground again.

“Rook. Rook, you need to focus with me. Come on, breathe. Rook.” She kept talking, trying to grab his attention, but all he could focus on was the fact everything hurt and his head was throbbing. The world was blurred but he couldn’t tell what from. “Rook!”

Blinking, he focused on her while someone else he knew but didn’t know came over. Everything felt like he was floating but in the worst way. Like the world was going to leave any second and he didn’t know what had been happening and he didn’t know what had happened because he couldn’t breathe—

“Rook, it’s okay. Just look at me, please.” He met Gwing’s gaze. “Breathe with me, okay?”

He wasn’t sure how long they did that for, but by the end of it he was realising that he must have passed out while walking over to the washbasin. “Zenya—”

“She’s okay, she wasn’t with you when you fell. Okay?” Weakly, he nodded. Hashaan was bending over him.

“You don’t have to—” Gwing covered his mouth, so he took that as advice to go quiet. Everything ached, if he was being honest. He really just wanted to roll over and go to sleep and not do anything else.

As soon as Hashaan was done, Gwing helped him up and over to the bed. “Just get some rest, Rook.” When he glanced at where Malark’s knife was sticking out of his coat pocket, she added, “It can wait. Okay?”

For a moment, he still almost protested. Then Zenya reappeared and curled up on his chest. Smiling, he met Gwing’s gaze. “Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah I’m just going to leave this here with that awkward ending.   
> The pair of people they were fighting included Cybil, if any of you remember her from “High Hopes Low Pateince”. Canonically, Cybil and her brother (whose name is, rather anticlimactically, Dylan) are trained assassins and that means that if I can’t think of a decent enough enemy I can just send them in to screw stuff up.   
> Y’all are loved and appreciated and amazing and awesome and I hope you have a nice day/night/evening/morning. Hope to see you in the next fic, hope everything with you is alright (and that the pain gets better if it’s not), and this is your daily reminder to take a breath, get something to eat or drink, stretch and maybe get up for a second.  
> Now, into the fray once more!


End file.
